Slave of the Legion (17 page)

"The O's trust us, Wester."

"Good!"

"How can you do this, Wester?"

"I can do it because the O's were right the first time—we're not intelligent! We're troublesome, dangerous pests! And it was stupid of them to try and communicate with us—just as stupid as it would be for us to try and communicate with them! And we're going to show them just how wrong they are, Tara—you and me and Gildron."

Tara moaned. It was tearing her apart. She was a psycher, of course. She could have forced me to obey her—easily. Except for one big problem—she was a slave of the Legion, just like me. We were both cursed.

###

"This will never work, Wester." Tara and Gildron stood beside me. I had spread our gear over the O's extra-high table. We were working the tacmap on the Persist, fascinated by the details Sweety was revealing to us about the alien starship.

"Maybe it won't, Tara. But we're going to try. We've got to try!"

"History will condemn us, Wester! This is our only chance for peace with the O's. We won't get a second chance!"

"I don't care about history, Tara. Look at this! O Number Four!" Sweety had the whole ship for us—every single room, every single energy source, every single O.

"It's hard to believe there's only four of them, in the whole ship."

"No, it makes sense—there's something wrong with the ship. That's why it didn't launch with the others, that's why we're still not in stardrive. And that's why the Mound was nearly empty of O's. They probably left only enough O's to repair the ship, and we killed some of them in our attack."

"Four of them."

"It sure looks that way. Two on the bridge—that's got to be the bridge. And two on the stardrive. Probably banging away desperately with hammers."

"That's certainly the drive." A tremendous energy source glowing with antimats occupied a massive chamber midships. Enough energy to power a star, surely. But there was something else, way up in the tip of the boom, glittering so brilliantly we couldn't make out any details on the tacmap display. We didn't have time to puzzle it out, but I knew it was exactly what the Legion wanted.

"And there's our weapons! Just waiting for us, right up that corridor." We could see them on the tacmap, our discarded A-suits, three E's, three ampaks of grenades and contac and timers, inside a little room full of indescribable alien equipment.

"It won't work, Wester. There are four of them. And they're not stupid. The instant there's trouble, they psych us and that's the end of us. Even one of them can do it. There's no counter to the psyching. It's suicide! What's the point?"

"My psybloc unit is still functional. My helmet was off when the O's blew out your psyblocs, and the unit was off. It should be still good. I'll detach it from the helmet—we'll have psybloc. It'll work!"

"They exploded the other two units—they know how to counter the psybloc now! What makes you think they're not going to do the same with your unit?"

"They're only going to have a few fracs. And if the bloc goes, we've still got psybloc grenades."

"Only a few. Not enough. Two O's at one end of the ship, two at the other. It won't work."

"They're going to get together some time, aren't they? For a staff meeting, for lunch, something."

"They're psychers. Maybe they don't have to get together for a staff meeting. Maybe they only eat once a year—we don't know!"

"We'll watch them. There'll be a pattern, sooner or later."

"If it ever comes out that they offered mankind a permanent peace and we attacked them, we'll be cursed by all humanity. We'll be reviled as insane, genocidal traitors."

"Funny—that's what we say about the Systies for trying to make peace with the O's, isn't it? Can't win, it seems, no matter what you do."

"We may cause the extermination of our species. Don't you understand that?" Tara was pale and furious.

"A diversion. We're going to need a diversion, no matter what we decide. Something to keep them busy while we attack."

"Wester—they're offering to end the war! Don't you know what it means? Are you really willing to take on a responsibility like this? Are you really sure the Legion would approve?"

"Maybe we could have you make an impassioned speech, about galactic peace or something. Then, while they're laughing, Gildron and I can attack."

"It's not funny, Wester. What's that?" Sweety had spotted something, a life form glowing on the screen, a phospho dot.

"Identification, Sweety."

"Human, Thinker. Alive." It was in the heart of the ship past a honeycombed maze of intersecting corridors and rooms under rooms. Human. Alive. Not moving.

"That's strange," Tara said.

"Is it Legion, Sweety?" I asked.

"Negative, Three. Non-Legion."

"Damn," I said. "We don't need this."

"Human," Tara said. "We'll have to find him—or her."

"It's going to have to wait," I said. "We've got more important things to do."

"What could be more important than rescuing a human from the O's?" Tara asked quietly.

"Killing O's," I replied.

"Brave talk," Tara said, "but pointless. Do you really think we have any chance at all? Do you remember when that O came into the room and fooled around with our arms?"

"I remember it."

"What do you think it was doing?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

"No—but we'd better think about it! It could have been anything. He could have injected something into us, for all we know. They might not even have to psych us. It could be autohypnotic. Lift a finger against the O's, and we die. Maybe that's why they don't seem to be concerned about us any more."

I turned away from the tacmod, and looked at Tara. "You could be right," I said. "Give me that medpak."

I pressed the medprobe against the scarred and burnt flesh of my right arm and triggered it.

"Medprobe," I said. "Internal analysis. Report anything unusual."

"I detect numerous penetrations of hostile microorganisms which entered from the external wounds," the medprobe reported quietly. "All but one are under successful attack by natural and artificial leucocytes. One penetration resists the defenses."

"Describe the intruder."

"Microscopic artificial device, self-powered, moving freely through the circulatory system, currently located in the femoral artery."

"Damn! We don't need this! Details!"

"All leucocyte attacks have failed. The device is impervious to your bodily defenses. The device is not discharging any substances into the bloodstream."

"What is the purpose of the device? What does it do?"

"There is insufficient data to respond to the question."

"Damn!" I could feel it, a white-hot rage, crawling over my skin. This wasn't going to stop me, I decided.

Nothing was going to stop me.

"You see, we know nothing," Tara said calmly. "I don't really think it's autohypnotic, but who knows? We know nothing about the O's science. We will not know what it is until it activates—and by then it'll be too late."

"Just what do you suggest?" I slammed the probe back into the medpak.

"You're proposing suicide, Wester," Tara said grimly. "And it's not necessary. You haven't heard the message, so you don't understand. The O's told me—through Gildron—that they understand about us, now. They have classified us as intelligent. And intelligent life does not resolve potential contradictions with violence, but with the application of intelligent solutions. They are now willing to live together with us peacefully, side by side. The war is over, Wester. Over! Can't you grasp it? And Gildron did it—we did it! Peace! The end of the war! Our mission has changed, Wester. We're ambassadors from the human race, and we've got to make the O's understand that they have to deliver us back to Uldo, so we can carry their message back to our people."

"It's our worlds they're proposing to live on. And I've already told you, they've classified us incorrectly. We're not intelligent! Now listen up. We're going for a little walk. But before we set out, I want you to fam yourself with this tacmap, here." I slid the tacmod across the tabletop to Tara. "I want both of us to have the interior of this ship in our heads. If we do make it to the point when we can start our attack, there's not going to be any time to consult the tacmap."

"And what about those alien devices that are cruising our bloodstreams?"

"There's nothing we can do about them."

"You're just going to ignore them?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Yes—give up your plan to attack the O's."

"Thanks. I'll think about it. Now memorize the tacmap. And take off that ridiculous shirt and get into your litesuit."

Chapter 14
Cross of the Legion

The door opened and we ventured out into the corridor.

It was just a little recon—an experiment, to look over the ship and see what limits the O's had placed on our movements, prior to settling on an ops plan. We were totally unarmed, and the truth is I was terrified, but I didn't want Tara to know it. For all we knew, the O's might decide to exterminate us the instant we stepped out of our room. I had the tacmod strapped to my waist, and the toolpak over one shoulder. Tara was back in her litesuit, and she had the medpak. Gildron had his shirt back on again. He paused outside the doorway, sniffing the air.

"Zip," he said. "O zip." We were in a perfectly circular corridor, standing on a narrow strip of softly yielding material, a walkway for the O's. Pale green lights shone down from the top of the corridor, and strange black devices lined the walls.

"This is the corridor that leads straight to the bridge," I said. "It's right up ahead there, on this level. And our weapons are stashed in the third room on the left."

"And the human?"

"Up ahead, down two levels, right at the intersection, third room."

"All right. I've got it."

"Let's go—we need to look at the doors, and those elevator things."

We moved forward. I could see from the tacmap that the two O's were still on the bridge. We passed the first room on the left. A sealed door, a control panel to one side. Our own door had opened and closed at a touch of the panel; the O's were making no obvious moves to isolate us.

The second room. Then the third. Both the same, a closed door, a control panel.

"Don't even pause," I ordered. "Just walk past it. Gildron, did you get our gear out of that room? The tacmod, the toolpak, did you get it from that room?"

Gildron stopped, and pointed to the room. "Dak-more," he said. "Doolbak, loom. Loom!"

"Don't stop," I snapped. "Go! Keep walking! Can you open that door, Gildron?"

"Ofen!" He stepped towards the door, intent on the task.

"No! No! Walk! Gildron, follow us!"

Confused, he stood there an instant, then followed, a puzzled, almost comical look on his face.

"You're confusing him," Tara chided me.

"Sorry—I thought he was smarter than us."

"He is—look!" It was a little alcove in the corridor. We'd seen this before, in the Mound.

"That's an elevator," I said. "And it leads down to our human."

"Let's go," Tara urged me.

"No," I said. "it can wait. We go to the bridge. I want to see how far we can get."

###

We made it all the way. The door to the bridge snapped open as we approached it. Gildron stepped in gingerly and Tara and I followed and then stopped in the doorway, stunned by the scene. The bridge swirled with activity—there was so much movement and color that I had trouble sorting it all out. Lights floated in the air, glittering like stars. Strange weightless objects darted around like miniature birds. The walls and ceilings flickered with soft light from strangely shaped devices. And the bridge was full of Omnis—there must have been six or seven of them, strapped into tall vertical body chairs, standing in place silently, pacing slowly and lazily in front of banks of alien instruments.

"What the hell, over," I squeaked, too frightened to move.

"They're not real," Tara whispered back. I reached down to my tacmod, not daring to take my eyes off the O's, and raised it up to where I could see it.

"Sweety—report." It was all I could manage.

"I detect two O's, Three," Sweety said calmly, "as marked. The others are holos—artificial energy images."

"Thank you," I replied, carefully lowering the tacmod back to my waist.

"Do you see the forward viewport?" Tara asked. "Look—we're in regular vac!"

I could see it now—a wide plex viewport in a wall of glowing readouts. A cold slit of vac, spangled with stars. It was truly beautiful. Tara was right—we were still in the vac. The O's had evidently not yet initiated stardrive.

One of the O's detached itself from a tall bodychair and approached us. This was a real one—my adrenalin gave me a jolt.

Gildron stepped out in front of us, confronting the O. The O surveyed him calmly, then turned away. The other O's ignored us. It was horrible seeing them so close. I noted they were not in armor, and their mag shields were down. They were completely off guard, on the bridge of their own ship.

Gildron snarled at us, then spoke. "Ko," he said, and began herding us off the bridge. We retreated back through the door and it snapped shut behind us as we left.

"O o-tah ko," Gildron explained, once we were safely back in the corridor.

"No dogs allowed on the bridge," I commented.

"Did you see all those O's? Did you see those artificial stars hovering over the instruments?" Tara was breathless.

"There's only two of them that are real. They're unarmored and unarmed. And we walked right in. If we had been armed, we could have killed them both."

"Don't be too sure," Tara said. "They could have flattened us in an instant with their psypower. And don't forget those little nasties inside us. If they're not worried about us, there's a damned good reason."

"Still, I feel a lot better about this. There's no effort to restrict our movements—except they don't want retards on the bridge. Probably afraid we'll press the wrong button and depressurize the ship or something." I paused, awash in ideas.

"Forget it," Tara continued. "We've only got two partially functional A-suits, and by the time we suited up, they'd be on us."

"You may be right. Let's see if we can find that human."

###

But by the time we neared the suspect room, Tara and I were engaged in a violent argument about the correct course of action.

"I'm sorry, Wester," she said. "You're wrong. You're totally wrong! And I'm not going to let you do this!"

"Just blackout, will you, Tara. We've already discussed this—there's nothing left to discuss!"

"Yes, there is! The future of our species! The future of the galaxy! That's what's at stake here—and we've got to get it right! There's no room for errors!"

"There'll be no errors! We're going to seize the ship, and kill the O's. That's the mission."

"No! No, Wester. The mission has just changed."

I spun around to face her. We had taken an elevator down, and now we were in another circular corridor and the unidentified human was up ahead somewhere. Tara's lovely face was grim and determined. Gildron hung over her, a massive bodyguard.

"No?" I shouted. "Don't tell me no, trooper! Not again! We've been through this! You'll shut down and follow my orders, that's all! And my orders are not subject to debate!"

"I'm pulling rank, Beta Three. You are no longer in command." Her exotic Assidic eyes were icy cold and glinting with resolve.

"Don't give me that crap, Tara! You're an auxiliary, attached to my squad. You're subordinate to everyone except Gildron!"

"Wrong, trooper. I am a Senior Captain in the Legion's Galactic Information Service—Starcom Information Command, to be exact. I am here on an official mission, and I outrank everyone in your squad. Including you!"

"You're lying!"

"It's the truth, Wester. On the cross!"

"It doesn't matter! You were attached to our squad! Your rank doesn't matter, as long as the mission continues!"

"The mission is over, Three—over!"

"Says who? You? Screw that!"

"Yes, me! My orders were to accompany your squad, and assist, if possible, in the completion of the mission."

"Good! Then shut down and follow orders!"

"And if any unusual situation was to arise which required Starcom's input, I was to provide such input, taking command if necessary by revealing my rank and Starcom affiliation."

"You're making this up, aren't you?"

"I am the Legion, Wester. I'm nothing else. I am the Cross of the Legion. I live and die for the Legion. And I know you do, too."

"The O's have psyched you!"

"My immediate superior is an officer in Outvac Sector Command—Starcom. I'm a Starcom officer, Wester. A Captain in Galactic Information. And I'm taking command, right now."

"Why now? Why not before? We argued about this before! You didn't say anything about Starcom then!"

"I wasn't really sure then. I thought maybe you were right. But I'm sure now—I'm sure!"

"You're just as wrong now as you were then!"

"Trooper, I am formally taking command of this element, as authorized by Outvac Sector Command. Do you dispute this?"

"You absolute bitch!"

I knew she was telling the truth. She was a psycher, she didn't have to lie to me. If she wanted to do something illegal, she could have simply psyched me.

"Do you dispute it?"

"No, damn you! I believe you! Only an officer could be so totally confused about reality."

"There's no confusion—not any more! Once I saw that bridge and their attitude toward us, I knew. We're not enemies any more. We're going to communicate with them, Wester!"

"The Systies tried that—and failed!"

"The Systies didn't have Gildron! Gildron is going to communicate with the O's for us. He's the go-between. There's nothing to lose, Wester! There's no harm in trying, and it would be criminal not to try!"

"It's impossible. Humans can't live with exosegs, and O's can't live with humans."

"You're wrong, Wester! And I'm so glad you're wrong! We're going to overcome generations of hatred, today!"

"Our ancestors would curse us!"

"Our descendants will bless us!"

"Our descendants will die in slavery! Assuming we have any!"

"This is the door, isn't it?" Just another closed door in a deserted corridor.

"Yes, that's it." Sweety still showed a human inside. I reached out for the door and it snapped open.

The stink of stale feces and urine and sweat hung in still air. A floor littered with empty ratpaks. Dirty blankets strewn about. And one boy, a pre-schooler, squatting against the wall. He was clutching a ratty blanket and a dirty shoe. Nobody else—only the one boy.

We approached him cautiously, and his big dark eyes watched us without emotion. He was just a little boy, naked under the blanket. Pale Outworlder face, clear features smudged with dirt, a cute little pixie haircut. Somebody had loved this little boy and taken good care of him, I could tell.

"Hello," Tara said shakily, "What's your name, little boy?"

He just looked at her for a few fracs, pondering what it all meant. Then he responded.

"Willard," he said, "We're Willard Tor-Sanna, Fifteen Rivergate Place Massan." He was totally serious. Something evil had happened here, I knew. He had a thin golden chain around his neck with a little metal tag. I took a look at it—an ID tag with his name and a series of numbers.

"Systie ID," Tara explained. "Willard, our name is Cinta. We're here to help it. Were there other children here?"

"It can't help," he replied quietly. "They'll kill it, too."

"How many other children were with it, Willard?"

"We don't know." A whisper. We could barely hear him.

"Were there a lot?"

"Yes."

"What happened to them?" The boy did not answer. I spotted something on the deck by his legs—a gleam of gold. A little pile of thin golden chains, all snapped in two. He had been saving them. I picked them up, a handful of glittering chains and flimsy ID tags—fifteen or twenty of them. Tara gazed at them silently. I dropped them to the deck. Gildron watched, silently. The boy didn't even look at him.

"Who were they, Willard?" Tara asked.

"Blue Bear Playschool," he explained sadly. He shuddered, and clutched the shoe tighter to his chest. It was a walking shoe, pink and white, splattered with dirt. It was much too large to be his.

"Whose shoe is that, Willard?" I asked. Tara's hand went to my shoulder, but it was too late.

"Our mommy's shoe," Willard replied. "We found it." His eyes were wet and suddenly the tears streamed down his dirty cheeks.

"Well, don't you worry, Willard," I said. "Because we're going to make friends with the creatures that did this."

"You bastard!" Tara gasped.

"And after we make friends with them, they'll promise not to kill any more people."

"Shut down, Wester!"

"Oh, and about your mommy—they said they're sorry. Isn't that nice?"

"Stop it, Wester. Please." I stopped. The boy cried silently, still hugging the shoe. And Tara's face was pale and twitching. I knew that look—white-hot fury, consuming her totally.

"All right," she said. "All right, Wester. May God damn you to Hell. You've won. We kill them—all of them! We're killing the future, but I don't care! We kill them or die!" She reached out and embraced the boy, and she couldn't say any more.

"Good," I sighed. "That's good." Gildron growled contentedly—he'd do whatever Tara said.

###

"It's not going to happen," I announced, glaring at the tacmod. "They're not going to get together." We were back in the room Gildron had taken us to, and it was decision time. The two O's were still on the bridge and the other two were still working on the stardrive.

"Is it going to kill the V?" Willard asked. He still clutched the shoe, dressed in short pants and a sleeveless shirt. We had found a sad little pile of children's clothing next door to his room.

"That's right, kid," I replied.

"Can we help?"

"No, honey," Tara responded. "You're going to stay right here."

"Will it come back?"

"Good question," I said. "Tara, it's going to be the second plan. You and I to the bridge, and Gildron to the stardrive. Are you sure he can do it?"

"Gildron, come here." Gildron towered over Tara. She pulled gently at his arms, and he squatted down to face her. She took his massive head in her hands and gently kissed him on the forehead. He moaned. "Gildron," she said, "You must kill those two V. The V in the hot room. You must shoot them with the E. Auto canister x, Gildron. If the door doesn't open, use the contac. Press it against the door, activate, stand back under cover, and after the explosion, switch on the E, toss in two psybloc grenades, go in firing, kill two V. Two of them! Do it quickly, Gildron! Can we depend on you?"